#wr metzli

[stainedglasstruth]

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Dandridge Barn PARTIES: Zane (@rn-zane), Wynne (@ohwynne), Zack (@zackbanes, Arden (@stainedglasstruth), Emilio (@mortemoppetere), and Metzli (@muertarte) SUMMARY: Wynne, Zack, and Arden find out what the vampires have in store for them. CONTENT WARNINGS: Kidnapping

Zane was only one of many that had pondered the purpose of the giant barn on Alma Dandridge’s lot, seemingly pointless as there were no animals nor farming happening on the big spread of land. Despite every bit of doubt and apprehension, the true purpose could not have been conjured up in even the vampire’s wildest nightmares. Alma had run this sort of mission many a time before, practice runs she liked to call them instead of mistakes, so of course a nice and big basement underneath an inconspicuous barn had been the first matter of business when moving to Wicked’s Rest. 

It had been empty for many years now, patiently waiting. Finally, it was serving its purpose. 

Descending the dark, musty stairs, whose entrance had been well hidden until now, was akin to being swallowed whole. Zane could still not decide whether staying behind had been the right call. Whether contacting Emilio was just adding another soul lost to whatever was about to transpire. There was no turning back now, stairs creaking with every step, his body flanked by more vampires as the group traveled down. Somehow, Zane hadn’t expected the shouting.

The noise grew louder once a door was opened, light flooding the dark stairwell and bringing with it the sound of pleas and banging on metal. Zane hesitated, not the only one in the group to do so, but all of those who paused were given a pointed shove to the back. And then there they all were. 

The vampire spawn grabbed everyone’s attention first. Alone in its cage, for now, it slammed against the bars and snarled at anyone who would listen. Zane’s eyes didn’t linger for long, dragging over the sight which filled the rest of the big basement with his stomach sinking further every second. The floor-to-ceiling bars looked old, like they had been waiting for years to house the desperate humans that now huddled inside. A quick count provided for fifteen people, hands tied and some of them definitely looking like they’d put up a fight while transported here. His instinctual step towards the wounded was cut off by someone’s hand on his chest. “Easy, tiger. There will be plenty to snack on later.”

Except they weren’t here to be snacks. They were here to be soldiers. Here to be turned into the creature that still trashed in its cage, right up until the moment Alma suddenly appeared amidst the throng of vampires, only a few of whom looked as confused and petrified as Zane. Alma placed a single hand on the spawn’s cage and it cowered away, head bowed. Dark spots danced in Zane’s line of vision and before he could know whether he would pass out or throw up first, Alma was turning to the prisoners with a soft smile and speaking. 

“A warm welcome to our guests. They have been brought here to serve their purpose in making this town a paradise for all of us.” 

—

It might be the middle of summer but Wynne felt like they had been shivering for days. Here, in this basement, it felt like their teeth had been clattering ever since their forced arrival, and there was no way of stopping it. Sleep had been hard to come by, coming in increments by resting against the soft flesh of the people that had been dragged down here with them. Arden and Zack hadn’t left their side and they hadn’t left theirs. Tied hands searching for each other in the dark. Inklings of hope shared when it was lacking in the others. Wynne was familiar with this kind of dread, but they had never shared it before. It somehow felt worse.

Back at the commune, there had been rooms like this, but they had been smaller and looked less like cages. They were rooms for solitary reflection, where the door remained shut. Wynne had been placed in them twice, not often blamed of insubordination, and they’d sat in silence and quiet and dark until the time was done. But nothing could have prepared them for this, this depravity and hopelessness. When they had awaited death at home, they’d done so under flannel sheets and in a soft bed. 

By now, it had been days, the numbers in the cage having grown, a vicious humanoid creature having joined them one cage over. Wynne’s cheeks were dry and red from the shed tears, their senses dulled and numb, their fight seeped out. The arrival of new figures had them perking up, though, heart hammering — there had been no explanation, no full one, as to why they were here.

And these new additions to the crowd weren’t dragged in or unconscious, weren’t dripping blood from their noses the way Wynne had five days ago. They walked in willingly, staring at them as if they were cattle. Wynne felt like they were cattle, like they were sheep being herded. But rather than being prepared for grazing, they were being prepared for something much worse. 

Their throat was too dry to fashion a response, but their eyes did fall on a familiar face in the crowd. Zane was a vague acquaintance, nothing more, and yet Wynne’s gaze got stuck on him as they shuffled closer to Zack and Arden. There was no use in pleading, that was a lesson hard-learned half a decade ago. The only solution was to run, but in this basement there was nowhere to go.

—

When they first got jumped, laughing and on their way to the Wormhole, Zack had assumed it was just another night in Worm Row. He had almost been annoyed about it, expecting to hand over his wallet and move on with the night. But of course it couldn’t be something so innocuous, so simple, as that. Of course there was some kind of kidnapping plot involving the spooky farm and cages and a veritable monster.

And he was useless. He had tried –carefully, just once or twice– to summon up his fire but the spark wouldn’t seem to come. And then, as the days went on, more and more people were added to the cell, and he didn’t want to risk trying. With no control, he couldn’t be sure that he wouldn’t end up hurting someone. And he couldn’t say why his abilities weren’t working in the first place. Maybe he was too scared or maybe it was from the meager food they were given. Zack still barely understood how any of it worked, and never had he regretted it more than right then. If he could control his fire with any accuracy and dependency, it could have actually helped. 

Instead, all he could do was try to keep as close as possible to Arden and Wynne. Cast a watchful eye over any injuries the two had accumulated in their initial attack to try and make sure they weren’t too hurt, make sure they both got enough food and water, when it came. And wait for any kind of opening.

When there was the stirrings of a commotion, Zack sat up straighter, struggling with his bindings. A group trudged in, including the ones who had been there the night they were all taken. Anger rose in his chest at the sight. Next to him, Wynne flinched and he turned to find them staring into the crowd as well. But not at their attackers, like Zack, at some other face he didn’t recognize. Casting a look to Arden and assessing her first, he nudged Wynne as best he could. “All right?” he asked, voice an undertone.

When the woman at the front began to speak, dread settled heavy in Zack’s stomach. He wasn’t sure what exactly all she said meant, but he was certain it wouldn’t be good for them. Apparently there was a plan. A purpose. He was reminded suddenly of Wynne's commune. He wouldn’t bet against another instance of human sacrifice. 

—

Metzli would be proud of her; Arden had put up a fight. She had gotten a few hits in and everything, but unfortunately the knife they had gifted her was iron and that didn’t exactly help her when she was being attacked by Fucking Vampires. Again! At least she had managed to get some of that training in during the past few weeks. 

She had tried so hard, for Wynne and for Zack, but ultimately she was still just a useless human in the face of the supernatural. The point of the training had been to be able to protect herself and her loved ones, but she hadn’t been prepared enough, and they had been hurt and taken. Logically, she knew she couldn’t even blame herself– she had been working diligently, pushing herself probably a little harder than she should with the workouts and sparring sessions. They were just outnumbered, and they were outnumbered by vampires. Still, Arden couldn’t help that feeling in her gut, the little voice in her head that told her she could’ve done more. 

They had been down there for days. It was hard to keep track of time, but the vampires had come in with food for their ever-growing little collection of humans four times. However long they had been down there, they had at least been able to speak freely. And while Arden couldn’t exactly say she was grateful for Wynne and Zack’s company– she much would’ve preferred it if they weren’t involved in this mess– it was comforting, having them there. If not for them, she wasn’t sure how she would be staying sane. They had each other's backs, sleeping in shifts and offering comfort however they could. 

She tried her best to keep a level head, watching over her roommates, of course, but also trying to keep a close eye on their captors. While they were stuck there, she had also informed them about vampires as much as she could, telling them everything she could remember about them, save for their weaknesses; Arden didn’t think the person keeping watch over them would react well to that. 

The spawn had freaked her out. She didn’t want to panic Zack or Wynne, or piss off the vampires, but the spawn had made their plans clear to her. Her stomach sank when the vampires entered the room. They were really outnumbered here, not that they would be able to do much even if they weren’t. They were just human. 

Arden eyed the vampires, before once again turning her gaze to the room around them, hoping something that could help them might have magically appeared when she wasn’t looking, knowing she would find nothing. They weren’t even going to die down here, they were going to be turned into mindless, undead bloodsuckers in this stupid fucking basement. She had hoped someone would find them before it was too late. Their absence had surely been noticed, at the very least by their bosses, Sully, and… Teagan. Probably Ariadne and some others, too. However, it seemed like they were well and truly screwed. 

At the mere thought of the nix, her eyes began to water. The necklace she had gifted her hung heavy around her neck, a constant comfort, a constant reminder. She bit the inside of her cheek, refusing to let out the tears that threatened to spill. Instead, she turned her attention to Wynne, leaning closer in an attempt to provide them some comfort. Her gaze then turned to Zack, who was focused on Wynne, of course. She once again had to blink back her tears. No matter what happened, Arden would fight for them. Until the end. 

—

Alma’s voice had been enough to finally quiet the sound of heart wrenching pleas but it did little to lighten the situation. As much as his stomach sank with every new face he registered, Zane couldn’t stop himself from taking them all in. They looked tired, angry, scared, hurt. Confused, the feeling properly mirrored in the nurse’s eyes when they met a familiar gaze. Wynne looked even younger now than they had during the two’s first and only meeting. He had helped her out then but now, he was just as useless as the people inside the cages. 

“This spawn is only the first of many that will help us claim what is rightfully ours. A place where the strongest don’t have to cower in fear and scrounge for food. This is only the beginning as our new recruits will help us build up an army of spawns.” Alma was gesturing towards a few of the vampires, a small and separate group Zane hadn’t noticed forming until now. There were six of them, including him, flanked by the half circle of vampires that had all been here for a long time and none of whom looked disturbed by the basement’s set up. 

This was all happening too fast, Alma was still speaking but it didn’t register as English to Zane’s frazzled brain. He couldn’t get all of these people out of here, there were so many vampires here and no way past them. Even though the people closest to him, lovingly dubbed ‘freshmen’ like himself, looked wary and confused, Zane couldn’t count on them to help. In his line of work, he had witnessed every possible response to overwhelming danger. Never before had he experienced first hand the seldom mentioned ‘freeze’ response, blankly watching the situation in front of him unfold, feet glued to the ground. 

The nervous vampire standing next to him stepped forward, the sound of jangling keys was deafening and there was more movement. There was no way to tell whether the blurry vision was due to panic or tears but everything became clearer the moment Zane finally realized who had been pulled from their cage and destined for a new and worse sort of prison. Wait. It took a moment to register why no one responded to his voice - Zane’s mouth hadn’t actually moved. One more glance at Wynne’s resigned face was enough to finally spur him into action. 

“They didn’t choose this.” Numerous pairs of red eyes converged on him and Zane swallowed thickly, taking a step forward on legs that felt like they wouldn’t carry him. A protest from behind that Zane could only assume was Razul was quickly quieted by Alma raising a hand. “I… this is wrong. We,” shaky hands gestured vaguely at the surrounding vampires, “all chose but they… we can’t do this. This isn’t right.”

Alma approached slowly, a comforting smile on her face as she cupped Zane’s cheek with one soft hand. “I always figured you’d be opposed,” she sighed. In a blink, the soothing touch was a vice grip on the back of his neck, pushing him towards Wynne. They were being held by an annoyed looking vampire, making sure Wynne’s neck was properly exposed. “So why don’t you start us off and just get it over with, dear?”

—

The keys rattled and for a dumb, naive moment Wynne thought they’d open the cage and let them go. They had asked, hadn’t they? Pleaded, tried to reason with the people that kept watch of them and then grown so silent that they were afraid they’d never talk again. Even Zack’s question they couldn’t answer, their gaze just landing on his for a moment as both their roommates put themself in closer proximity to them. But it was little use, was it?

The keys rattled and the vampire that entered the cage left no room for stragglers, no room for escape attempt. He pushed past others and eventually Zack and Arden too, fingers enclosing around the back of Wynne’s neck. “What are you —” they began, trying to struggle against the tight grip but unable to do so, strength larger than their own (and that of any other human) dragging them forward. There were no words now, just an animalistic noise. They could feel the vampire’s fingernails break the skin and they let out a yelp of pain. “Please.” 

Once out, away from the other dozen-or-so trembling humans, Wynne felt eyes on them. They thought about home and that engraved altar, of Jac laying down with his hands tied behind his back, Siors bringing down the knife to his throat. They hadn’t wanted to die and they didn’t want to die now either, even if it meant coming back. They had grown tight and tense but not hard enough not to be moved around, their body like a stiff doll in the arms of the vampire. He had turned them around, bend their head to expose their neck and all Wynne could do was whimper and close their eyes and look at Zane and tremble like a meek little lamb.

When he spoke up they watched the woman speak to him, so soft and then so cruel and they thought of Siors again, of all their elders and their parents. How many times had Padrig cupped their cheek like this? Squeezed their chin until their skin turned red? 

Zane was like them — not just a vampire’s friend, but one of them. Wynne did not trust him, but he called this wrong. He did what no one at the commune had done when they’d prepared Wynne for the slaughter and when the two came eye to eye, with their neck exposed and their breathing falling from their mouth in rapid succession, they thought there was something to appeal to.

“You don’t have to do this,” they said, their voice constrained from the way their neck was bent and the tears flowing down their cheeks. At least if they’d had died at home it would have been beautiful. Their hair laced with flowers and their body warm with scented oils, a splendid meal beforehand and a speech in the last moment. It would have been honorable. But even then, Wynne hadn’t wanted to die. “Please, Zane.” 

—

Zack didn’t fully understand all that was happening, but he knew enough. He knew that the people who had taken them were not human. And he knew that whatever that thing in the cage was (spawn, they called it), they planned on turning all of their captives into that, somehow. 

Apparently, they were going to do that now, with one of the group stepping forward with a set of keys. Of course, of course, he came right over to their little group. Zack tried to put himself in front of Arden and Wynne, but they grabbed for the youngest of them all. “No, don’t!” Zack struggled to get himself up, to put himself between their captors and Wynne. But it was no use – with his hands behind his back he wasn’t even able to stand up, let alone fight back in any way. “Not them.”

Some of the group seemed amused by his weak protesting, with one comment, “Don’t worry. You’ll all get a turn.”

Sick dread slipped into Zack’s stomach at that. That was likely true, but if there was a chance of somehow stopping this, it meant that Wynne couldn’t go first. Wynne who had already had their head on the chopping block once, in that awful place they had called home before coming to Wicked’s Rest. Before making a home with Zack and Arden and Sully. “Please, just don’t take them first.” 

Zack wasn’t the only one trying to stop this, though. One of the group tried to reason with the leader, someone who Wynne knew, apparently. And there were a few others, not many but a few, who looked similarly conflicted. In the end, it didn’t matter. Their leader was uninterested in any protests and forced the man who had spoken out, who seemed to know Wynne, over to do whatever it was that would start this horror show.

Desperately, Zack tried to call up the fire that lived somewhere inside him. “Please,” he muttered to himself. “Please, please…” Since they had first made their appearance, his abilities were nothing less than a plague. A shadow that lived over his every move as he tried to contain and control it all so it would never hurt anyone, never cause any harm. And here, now, there was the chance that it could help. If he could only bring it forth. If he had only learned, in any of his years, how to use it in any way that mattered. 

The fire never came. Distraught and ashamed, Zack turned to tip his face against Arden’s shoulder. He couldn’t help and, in the end, he couldn’t watch.

—

This was it, then. The beginning of the end. 

Arden couldn’t help but think of her last vampire encounter. She had been convinced she would die, certainly would have if not for the cross around her neck, if not for Emilio. She had barely taken it off since that night, but, of course, it had failed her, and she, in turn, had failed her friends. 

That night, the sheer panic of staring down that vampire, knowing she would die, had been so overwhelming it had almost been peaceful. Now, though, there was no peace. Not when Zack and Wynne and all these other people were here. Not when she knew they wouldn’t even have the dignity of dying as themselves. They were simply pawns in some fucked up game of chess. Dying here meant an eternity of mindlessly harming others, and for what? Some insane vampire’s power play? No, there was no peace now, just dread and terror and rage and regret. 

The awful pit of dread in her stomach only widened as one of the vampires came to grab one of them to be the first sacrifice, and it just grew and grew the closer they came toward their little trio. Of course, Zack tried to put himself in front of them, and Arden had to swallow back the wave of tears that threatened to spill. And, of course, they didn’t even grab her. 

The horror that shot through her as they grabbed Wynne was unlike any other she had felt. “No! Wynne!” She struggled against her binds, trying to do something, aware Zack was doing the same. They had only recently told her about their home, about why she had run, the fate she had run from. Wynne was one of the sweetest people she had come to know in her twenty-eight years on this Earth. Of all the people who could’ve been subjected to such a fate, they damn well hadn’t deserved to live their life in fear, knowing that in the end, they were simply a sacrificial lamb to appease some demonic entity. And they certainly didn’t deserve this. No one did, but not them, not Wynne. 

Their plea, Zack’s pleas, they broke her. Arden had tried to keep it together for so long, tried to be strong, especially for Wynne, but she couldn’t stop the tears from streaming down her face. “Take me first,” she choked out. But the only response she received was laughter. Since her father, since Jo, since coming back to this goddamn town that she considered home, she had felt so small, so useless, so human. Never had she hated it as much as she did then, moments before they would all be turned to monsters. 

When one of the vampires spoke up, she had a moment of hope– maybe they weren’t all convinced on this plan, maybe this didn’t have to happen. It was quickly crushed as the leader forced his head down. He would be the one to turn Wynne for his insolence. 

Beside her, she heard Zack’s quiet pleas and it broke her heart. Arden closed the space between them, the only way she had of comforting him. She remembered back when she had first moved in, she had been a little jealous of how close Zack and Wynne were, how much they seemed to care for each other, how much she had wanted that after years of not letting herself be close to anyone. But that was months ago, and now she had her own relationships with them. She loved how much they loved each other, and she loved the both of them so much. She would do anything, give anything, if it meant they could be free of this situation. Arden would turn into a monster, become a spawn, become whatever these vampires wanted if that meant they could survive this. 

As Zack burrowed his face into her shoulder, Arden only had her eyes on Wynne. This was it. The beginning of the end, and it was starting with Wynne. 

—

You’re walking into a trap. It was something his mind kept repeating, over and over again. A vampire gives a slayer intel about the clan they’ve sworn loyalty to time and time again. Tells the slayer to come to a remote location, ready to fight. They don’t trust each other — they never have. What else could it be? 

On some level, Emilio knew Zane wasn’t the type to kill him outright. He’d proven that time and time again, helped him instead of hurting him, saved his ass against another vampire even when he knew it meant signing that vampire’s death warrant. But that didn’t necessarily mean he was safe here, did it? He was walking into a trap. It was the most obvious answer, the easiest one to default to. He was walking into a trap. He knew he was.

But he was walking anyway.

If it was a trap, after all, it was a well-laid one. If you told Emilio that there were people in trouble and that he could save them if he only had the courage to show up, you’d get him where you wanted him every goddamn time. It was a slayer’s job, wasn’t it, to die for a cause? To fall on a blade, to bleed himself dry? If there was a chance, even a small one, that Zane’s information was good, Emilio had to take it. He knew that. 

Asking for help was a rare thing, but he’d thought about Nora. About Ren, about Leticia, about Rhett. About all the people who, for some unfathomable reason, gave a shit whether he was alive or dead. He was bound to die for his cause sooner or later, and he was probably walking into a trap, but maybe if he put up half a fight they wouldn’t hate him for it. Metzli was the only one he could really ask; Rhett or Owen would have wanted to kill all the vampires involved, including Zane, and he couldn’t stomach the thought of taking any of the kids along. Leading Kaden into something that was probably a trap, too, would have felt cruel, and Andy was retired. So it was Metzli or it was no one. And it was a miracle that he picked the former.

“This is it,” he said gruffly, nodding to the barn. “Got a guy on the inside. Zane. Don’t kill him, or the humans they’ve got locked up. Everyone else is fair game.” When he was done here, either the clan or the Cortez family name would be wiped out. There was no room for anything else. “Got it?”

—

When the barn came into view, Metzli couldn’t help but stare at their hand, feeling the weight of what was to come, keeping it from being consumed by tremors. Emilio had requested their help to fight, to take out a small army of vampires. They’d done it before, dead blood coating their skin not an unfamiliar sensation. By the end of the night, Metzli was sure they’d be painted like a warrior, and Leila would likely be all over them for it. But it didn’t matter. Not then. Emilio needed their help and so too did innocent people inside.

“I will do what you ask.” The vampire replied with no personality in their tone, falling into the role of soldier once more. Metzli’s thoughts began to drift far away, body functioning as whatever Emilio needed it to be. Whether shield or sword, it didn’t matter. Metzli wanted to help their friend and atone for every atrocity they had a hand in. It was one mission, but it was enough to be a start.

“Let us begin before it is too late.” Metzli trained their attention to the entrance, retrieving their blade as they slipped inside. They could feel the truth in sharp velocity, of knowing the odds of survival to be shaky at best. 

There was much to fight for, the fear of death not overwhelming but still biting the back of Metzli’s neck to remind them of what was waiting for them at home. They carefully descended down the steps, the sound of chaos consuming them with each step. Looking back at Emilio one last time, Metzli gave him a nod, tensing their body in preparation. 

Whatever was to come, despite the way they were created to oppose one another, it felt bittersweet to find a brother in the midst of so much blood. To have a man like Emilio trust Metzli—a vampire—enough to help him and run into danger without hesitation. It was an honor to extend their hearts to one another, whether the slayer saw it that way or not. The role of soldier fell and Metzli quickly became an ally instead. It fit just a bit better, they thought.

—

Sharp nails were digging into the back of his neck, the fact that it was Alma causing him harm somehow much more painful than the physical sensation. Zane had wanted information on her way back when but never could he have imagined this to be the answer to his nagging doubts. Someone who would go this far for power, who would take another’s free will, whether human or vampire. Tears were relentlessly brimming in his eyes now, lips parted in a desperate attempt to say something, anything, as a response to Wynne’s pleas. To reassure the people that seemed to be their friends that he wouldn’t hurt them. He wasn’t someone who hurt people. Or so he had always thought. 

When Alma grew impatient, nails dug further, feeling monstrously elongated inside his skin. The pain was enough to push out fangs, eyes turning red behind the tears. He couldn’t do this, not to Wynne, not to anyone. The whole point of joining what he had thought was a new family was having choice. For the first part of his life, choice hadn’t been an option. You adapted and fit in or, in Zane’s case, got cast out. What was there if not choice? “I won’t,” he whispered, voice trembling. Alma could hear him, he knew, because she was snarling in his ear now. 

There was no actual response from her and for a moment, Zane let himself live in the delusion that maybe his words had an impact. That he had a choice. 

Strong hands, his sire’s, moved quickly. There was no time to register what was happening - he had expected to be tossed aside, maybe even a swift death. Blood filling his mouth had not been one of the expected variables, his teeth sinking into Wynne’s neck, held in place by the strong grip of the woman Zane had once thought would rescue him. Innate enjoyment overpowered panic, mixed in with pure revulsion at the new emotion. Greed fought with regret, hunger struggled with disgust and the last bit of hope that Emilio had received his message flickered out. 

—

Metzli was right — they were on a strict schedule here. Vampires intent on doing as much damage as possible didn’t tend to take their time. They’d tear through those people in that basement in a matter of hours at the most, and then they’d start ripping into people in the streets, in their houses, leaving bodies in living room floors and —

— No. No, he couldn’t think about that right now. He couldn’t be a man when what Zane had asked for was the weapon. There were people in that barn that needed saving, or there were vampires in that barn that needed killing, or there were both. Either way, it was Emilio’s job to step inside.

“Let’s go, then.” He pushed the door open without waiting, without pausing to see if Metzli would follow. He knew they would. And that was a strange feeling, too; the hair on the back of his neck was standing up straight, refusing to allow him to forget that they were a vampire, that he was built to put a stake in their chest just as much as he was built to take out the monsters in the basement. But he trusted them, somehow, knew that his back was safe so long as they were the one watching it. It was strange, wasn’t it? Learning to rely on someone you’d been raised to hate, to kill. It was nothing you could ever recover from.

There were stairs, just like Zane said there would be. Emilio took them two at a time despite the pain in his knee. Any element of surprise they had would hinge on timing. If the vampires were paying close enough attention, they would have heard the barn door open, would have heard the feet on the stairs. If this was a trap, there would be no surprise, anyway. But when Emilio shoved his way into the basement, everyone seemed surprised to see him.

And they weren’t the only ones surprised.

His eyes immediately went to the center of the large basement, to the main event. There was Zane, his teeth buried in an achingly familiar throat. 

Wynne. 

There was a flash of something else. Of bloody hands, of still-cooling bodies, of a living room floor. Emilio quickly pushed it all down, pushed it all away. That story was over. There was no one in that living room that he could still save, no ending that he could pretend was happy.: It was finished, it was gone. But this wasn’t.

Time seemed to slow, for a moment. He took in the cage full of people, met Arden’s eye and noted Zack with his face buried in her shoulder. There was another cage with a spawn already there, and for a moment, he felt an awful relief. The spawn was unfamiliar, wasn’t someone he cared about, and he wondered when he became the sort of person who was okay with death so long as it was the death of a stranger. What did it make him, he wondered, that he said a silent prayer of gratitude that the spawn in that cage wasn’t Arden or Wynne or Zack? If God was listening, would He forgive this sin, too? Or was Emilio more sin than man now, too far gone to save?

Turning to Metzli, he tried to control his breathing enough to speak. It was a difficult thing. “I’m saving the kid,” he said, no room for argument. He was saving Wynne, because he had to. Because he didn’t know what he’d do if he couldn’t, because there was no other option here. Wynne wasn’t dying in a goddamn basement with a vampire’s teeth in their throat. “Keep me alive long enough for that. Then do whatever.” It was all the warning he gave before he was shoving his way through the crowd of vampires, desperate to get to the center. 

Whatever Zane was doing, he was going to stop it. If he had to put a stake in the nurse’s chest to do it, he liked to think Zane would prefer it that way.

—

The tremors that Metzli had been able to fend off continued to bite at them, persisting until they had managed to consume their hand. Flashes of their childhood stung their eyes, the intensity growing as Eloy’s voice boomed in Metzli’s thoughts. They were back in their clan again, the urge to attack growing.

Especially when they saw Wynne. 

Metzli took a single step, stopped by Emilio’s plan, command laying just beneath his words. Right—Eloy’s voice dissipated and they looked at their friend. It appeared they’d be Emilio’s shield, using their newfound ability to feel as fuel for the ferocity of the punishment they’d lay thickly onto their enemies. 

With a feral and guttural growl, Metzli surged forward, following closely behind Emilio. They plunged their blade into one neck, drawing a squelching smile across while they ripped out another throat with their teeth. Flashes of red orbs, the last thing the vampires saw before theirs went blank.

There was no time to stop or hesitate, the horde catching wind of the anomalies. They were going to swarm them before Emilio had the proper chance to stop the monster from hurting Wynne fatally. Metzli knew that because they were a monster too. 

“Oye,” They head-butted another vampire, wrapping their arm around Emilio, “Jump.” Metzli lifted the slayer over the crowd, sitting him on their shoulders briefly before throwing him toward Wynne. When he made it to his destination, Metzli turned back to their victims, eyes filled with violence, striking the others into a moment of submission. It was enough to give them the upperhand, leaving a few vampires headless and spewing black blood in their wake.

To Be Continued...

[muertarte]

PARTIES: @amonstrousdream @muertarte

TIMING: The night of this

SUMMARY: Metzli panics that they are a danger to everyone. Leila tries to stop them.

WARNINGS: References to past Emotional Abuse, Accidental Domestic Abuse (nothing serious, a one-second wrist grab)

Despite not needing sleep, exhaustion hit Metzli like a train, their mind screeching as it attempted to stop. Their eyes remained closed for a few extra moments longer, the sensation of Leila’s body against theirs doing well to keep their mind from straying too far. It was strange, Metzli thought, to have torn through hundreds of bodies only hours ago, and yet be holding someone so gently and reverently.

They opened their eyes, looking at Leila with a building worry. All the worries and fears they had long since bid farewell to came rushing back with a vengeance. Metzli’s entire body tensed, a shudder surging through them as images of the fear on Wynne’s face flashed in their mind. Then Arden’s. And Zack’s, even if that was more towards the damage painting the room and not the image of them covered in war. 

Panic’s claws dug into Metzli, a horrible sensation of pins attacking their chest and fingertips. Their breath hitched, and they quickly rose to sit up, panting. As much as they tried, Metzli was coming to the conclusion that they’d never be able to change what they truly were. Zack, Wynne, and Arden had seen it, and now they probably—and rightfully—feared Metzli. They sat at the edge of the bed, and looked back at Leila, wondering when she’d look at them that way. It was something they couldn’t let happen. They’d never forgive themself if they gave Leila a reason to fear them. 

She had to be protected. Everyone did.

“I have to go.” Their voice was emptier than ever as they sped away from the bed and to the closet, a poor attempt to not feel the storm twisting within them. “I have to go,” Metzli repeated, body rigid with panic. “I have to go. I have to go. I have to go.”

Something was wrong. 

Leila had been laying there for god knew how long, tucked close to Metzli, grateful that they were okay, they were okay- but something in the silence made a pit grow in her stomach. She’d scanned over every inch of them, every line of their face, hoping she might find an answer hidden there. But it wasn’t until their eyes opened that the mare found the beginnings of proof. Worry. Fear. A wave of it crashing over their face before Leila had a moment to process it all. 

And then they were up, wrenching themself away from her as their breathing sped faster and faster out of control. “Metz…?” She was up in a moment, abandoning her spot in the bed to try and check on her partner. The pit grew larger in Leila’s stomach, a black hole of dread that threatened to swallow her up. “Hey, what’s wr-” They were off the bed in with a shot. Leila’s hand hung in the space between, a moment shy of reaching Metzli’s shoulder. 

I have to go. “Metz, you need to rest…” I have to go. They ran towards the closet, as far from her as quickly as they could. She wondered if this was some terrible dream she’d constructed for herself…. I have to go, I have to go, Leila clambered out of a bundle of sheets, her bare feet on the floor matching rhythm with a quickening heartbeat. I have to go. “Go where?”

There didn’t need to be much packing, not when the place being traveled to wasn’t even set. Regardless, Metzli felt like they were already behind, their prison waiting for them to rush in. “No. No. No.” Worry began to tremble their voice, a soft desperation clinging to it as they rummaged around their closet. “No rest. No rest. No rest…” It sounded breathless and quietly urgent, legs beginning to pace in circles instead of marching to a specific goal. 

What was it anyway? What were they doing? 

Metzli bumped into Leila in the midst of their panic, recalling what they needed to do. She didn’t deserve a monster, and Metzli certainly didn’t believe they deserved the warmth she offered them without hesitation. She didn’t know better, but they did. Metzli knew what they were, and they needed to protect the people they loved from their murderous and bloody hands. Save them from being spattered and stained with their violence.

“M-Monster. Monster. Monster…I-I…need…y-you are in danger.” A pause, eyes wide with irrational panic staring into Leila. “I have to go. I have to go. I have to go.” Metzli tugged at their hair, the needles making their scalp itch. They needed a plan to set in motion, but they hardly had the capacity to think past the cacophony of voices thundering in their head, and echoing into themself repeatedly. It was made even worse by the memories of everyone’s fear being worn so plainly on their expressions. “You are not safe with me. Not safe. Not safe.” That’s when a thought came to mind, an old one. Not quite unlike the place they just left. Metzli needed a new basement. They needed to be locked up like before. A terrifying thought, but they supposed there was a reason both their parents and sire shut them away.

Eloy was right. Eloy was right. Eloy was right.

They hurried about from one place to the other in the closet, looking for… something- she wasn’t quite sure what- all the while murmuring things that didn’t quite make sense repeatedly to themself. Fear. Leila was far too familiar with the sound of it. The way it made a voice shake and stammer… the way it looked in a person’s eyes, glossy and wide… But she’d never thought she would find that sound or look in Metzli. Not when they were talking to her… looking at her… 

Metzli bumped into her and the fear-soaked-panic that drove them from their bed and set them to packing turned into the worst words Leila had ever heard. I have to go. The mare tried to rationalize what they were saying- what were they saying? going where? she wasn’t in- I have to go. “M’amour, I’m not in danger… you’re not a monster…” Words tumbled from her lips but got swallowed up by I have to go. They tugged at their hair, a tempest in their mind that would not let up keeping that fear firmly set in it’s place. 

Without thinking, she reached out in an attempt to gently extract the fingers that were tightly wound in their hair. “Metzli… Metzli, please… Está bien cariño, I’m safe. You aren’t a monster. I’m safe with you-”

Leila wasn’t getting it, and she wouldn’t. This facade that had been created was something she drank readily despite it being poison. No matter what Metzli believed they could finally be, it was wrong. And they finally understood what the meaning behind ‘If you love someone, let them go,’ was. Metzli was a blood-soaked monster, painting Leila with every touch. 

How long until she was consumed by it? How long until they ruined her? Metzli couldn’t let that happen. They wouldn’t.

“You are not safe!” They yelled, eyes meeting Leila’s and nails digging into their scalp. “No one is safe around me. This is why master locked me away. I am just…just…” Metzli tensed and when Leila’s fingers grazed their hand, the needles surging deeper into their skin. There was only one way to react, something they couldn’t stop. “No!” With their exclamation, Metzli grabbed Leila’s wrist with a bruising grip. They let go in an instant, the act calamitous and wrong.

“I am–Leila…I…” She truly wasn’t safe. Not as long as she was around Metzli. They couldn’t protect her from anything, not even them. “I am sorry.” They said it once, everything going wickedly calm and quiet. “I have to-I have to…” A swallow, “I have to protect you. Everyone. Not supposed to hurt people you love. Not supposed—” Metzli slid past Leila, careful to not side-swipe her in the process. “I will not do it again. I will not. I will not.” Looking toward the door, Metzli tensed their hand through their hair. “I will lock myself and it will be fixed.”

She flinched. 

She hadn’t meant to- she wasn’t scared of Metzli. Never had been, never would. But some piece of the long dead girl she had been, the one who remained locked away and buried deep inside of her, couldn’t help but shrink at a raising voice. Leila’s memory had grown fuzzy after centuries, but she remembered his voice, too loud and too angry. That wasn’t Metzli’s voice- even when they yelled, there wasn’t anger. Just that same fear. 

They grabbed her wrist, and she sucked in a breath in surprise. As quickly as they grabbed her, they let go, as if she was some white hot coal and had only just realized it. She knew better, Leila thought, they were panicking and she shouldn’t have gotten so close so quick, she knew better- “It’s alright…” The words got choked out, forced past the wall of stunned silence. “You didn’t hurt me–” But Metzli wasn’t listening. They were walking around her, painfully cautious not to touch her, eyes fixed on the door across the room. 

Leila scurried out of the closet, trying to place herself between Metzli and the door. “You aren’t something that people need protection from, Metzli! I don’t need protection from you. I just need you–” Lock themself?? Her mind was whirling about like an out of control carousel, like she was trapped inside the worst nightmare she had ever had. Worse than the ones that had slowly killed her. Only now, there was no waking up. “Don’t lock yourself up, you don’t need to lock yourself up! Just- talk to me, Metzli, this doesn’t make sense… Don’t go…”

Leila’s reaction was evidence enough, proof that the monster they had tried so hard to kill was still within them, and it was hungry thing that she was watching in front of her with a hint of terror. There truly was no other choice. “I have to. I have to. I have to.” Legs moved on instinct, the same never-ending circular path. “I will never hurt you again.” Metzli promised, forcing their legs to comply and stop in front of their partner. The only woman they’ve ever loved. Leila looked so broken and hurt, the fear of abandonment not lost on the vampire. But Metzli wasn’t leaving her, and if they could stay, they would.

“My heart is still yours.” It still didn’t make sense, saying those words when their heart was still in their chest, but if anyone could hold it without ripping it out, it would be Leila. “You deserve better. I-I-I do not belong.” Metzli connected their forehead to Leila’s, a selfish act. They needed to feel her skin against theirs just one more time so they could have the ghost of her touch remaining. “Everyone I love will be safe.” Their lips connected deeply, passionately. A goodbye without words. When they parted, Metzli let the numbness consume them, willing themself to tear themself away before they made the wrong choice.

“I will put the monster away.” Metzli stood straight, pain threatening to crash through their shield. “I will miss you.” They almost broke then, but they held their ground, steeling themself as they burst into a limped sprint, straight out the door.

If their heart was hers, then why were they leaving? “No, no, no, no…” Her voice had grown so small, so quiet. Wake up, wake up, this is a dream, you’ll wake up and this will all be a dream. It was a lie, Leila knew it was a lie, but it was one she prayed would become true. Tears rolled down her cheeks, staining her face with that strange shimmering stuff of nightmares. Wake up, wake up, wake up… “You belong- with me, with Honey, with Cass and Osito- don’t go… don’t go, please don’t go-” 

They silenced her with a kiss. Leila had kissed those lips so many times now, but never had she had a kiss that felt so final. They had decided for the two of them and hadn’t given her a choice in the matter. Metzli was leaving. She tried to make the kiss last, tried to hold on for as long as she could, but Metzli won out, always the stronger one… 

And then they were gone. 

Leila stood frozen in the bedroom, practically swallowed up in the now-too-large-too-empty space, staring at the place where her partner had once stood. If it had been a dream, she would have woken up by now. But she was herself a nightmare, dead and gone and not capable of waking from her own bad dreams. A sob rose in her throat as her legs gave out and the woman sat on the floor. Alone. Again. Of all the nightmares Leila had in life, of all the dreams that had plagued her until her heart gave out… this was worse. 

This was far worse.

[stainedglasstruth]

@muertarte replied to your post “[pm] Thank you for your help Arden. And for...”:

[pm] I want to. If you have any more bills please let me know. I will pay them. Do you feel strange? My mind feels strange.

​[pm] I'm okay on bills. [......] You know about knives, right? Maybe you can help me with something.

A little, yeah. My girlfriend also mentioned feeling kind of off. I don't know how, but I assume this might have something to do with how the crystals are both growing and glowing. You didn't touch any crystals, right? If it's affecting just anyone now, that's a problem

[stainedglasstruth]

@muertarte replied to your post “[pm] Thank you for your help and thank you again...”:

[pm] Leila may be contacting you about any weaknesses you find. Master will not let me say what they are and if he finds out am talking about fighting back he will make me hurt you all. Am a few miles from town to have my own thoughts.

​[pm] Smart. Okay, I'll let her know, then. [...] I'm sorry this is happening. We will figure it out, though.

[stainedglasstruth]

@muertarte replied to your post “[pm] You tell man about glitter bomb. Is this a...”:

[pm] Yes. He is man at BMV. People say is wrong to stab. But I want to stab. Glitter will be fine. For now. I will stab if I have to.

​[PM] Ah, understandable.

And I get having the urge to stab someone, but a glitterbomb is definitely the more legal option.

[stainedglasstruth]

@muertarte replied to your post “[pm] I have left a basket for you. They are pan...”:

[pm] It is no problem. I bake too much anyway. All birthdays or just your own? I will like your birthday for you because am glad you were born.

​[pm] Sounds like a good problem to have.

My own, mostly. [.....] That's really sweet of you to say, Metzli.

[stainedglasstruth]

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Muertarte PARTIES: Metzli (@muertarte) & Arden (@stainedglasstruth) SUMMARY: Heading home, Arden finds a dazed and roughed up Metzli sitting outside Muertarte. She helps them out as they catch her up on what's happening with their clan. CONTENT WARNINGS: Emotional abuse/manipulation.

Metzli looked at the sparkling sky, filled with life and death, a stark contrast from what was happening inside. There was no wave of emotion, no swelling in their chest from the breaking news when there should’ve been. Inside of them was a starless night sky, where the brilliance of feelings had been obscured, leaving only a dark expanse where nothing shined. 

It was as if the symphony that began with Honey within Metzli’s soul had lost its conductor, and the melodies of emotion had been silenced. Chuy—Master Jesus had snuffed it all out with one look after an earth-shattering truth, releasing their fledgling into the wild to watch their life be ripped away by their own hands. 

Hands that were…bloody? “Hmm…?” Their face remained neutral, incapable of moving. It wasn’t possible with no wave to motivate it. And yet, their hands shook. Why? Metzli sat against a brick wall, unable to recall how they’d manage to get to…there was a sign. 

Downtown? That’s when it hit them, a small flash, a brief memory resurfacing. They looked at the rest of themself. Their clothes were tattered and stained with their dead blood. Of course, the punishment. Chuy—Master Jesus had made it clear what their place was. Now it was time for reparations, for things to be made right. Destroy what Metzli had worked so hard to create from the inside out. 

It was still difficult, walking alone at night. The fear was logical, especially in Wicked’s Rest, especially after everything that had happened. It was incredibly unlikely that she would ever have the misfortune to be once again be ambushed and surrounded by six whole ass vampires, but there were plenty of other beings and creatures that would be equally, if not more, terrifying to run into. She could maybe hold her own against one being. Maybe. But then again, it had been a while since she'd done any training with Metzli.

Now that her arm was healed enough, she was raring to get back to it, but with what remained of their clan seemingly hanging around town, they were trying not to draw any attention to their friends, Arden included. And she appreciated that caution, as she certainly didn't want a repeat of what happened with Zane's clan. However, in addition to missing her friend and their regularly scheduled workouts, she was very concerned about Metzli and the whole situation. They had asked her to do some digging into elder vampires, to try to find any weaknesses, and while she already knew that elders were incredibly powerful and dangerous, her research had made her aware of what that actually meant.

Elders weren't bothered by religious symbols, they healed faster, they didn't need invitations to enter private property, and just became generally faster and stronger than the average vampire. They were like Vampires Plus– the older they became, the more their abilities increased and their vulnerabilities decreased. Honestly, it was fascinating and to learn about, but knowing that this was an actual threat her friend would potentially be facing, it was terrifying as well.  Arden hoped Metzli would be getting some backup should they need to deal with their old clan mates. They could handle themself, sure, but not against an elder. It seemed no one person could, unless they were an elder themself, maybe.

She was on high alert as she walked, her hand at her side, ready to pull out her knife if necessary. And she nearly did as she noticed the bloody figure sitting on the sidewalk, back pressed to the nearest building. At least, until her brain caught up to her vision and she realized it was her friend. 

“Metzli?” Arden called, her confusion evident in her tone of voice. She gave a quick look over their surroundings, scanning for any immediate threats before rushing over.

Clearly something was wrong– as she approached, that fact only became more clear. Their clothes were torn and soaked in dark blood, their bloodstained hand outstretched as if they were examining it, and their face was blank, void of any emotion. That itself wasn't uncommon with Metzli, but there was something about it that felt wrong. Their eyes maybe? Or maybe it was just her and the anxiety that was creeping up into her chest. ”Metzli? Are you okay?! What happened?“

A familiar scent danced in the small breeze, swaying quickly into the vampire’s nose. Seeing a friend would normally cause a wave of comfort, or even excitement, but just as with everything else so far, Metzli felt nothing. Their vision began to swim, mind overwhelmed with the amount of new information that Chuy—a zap rushed through their head, pain activated momentarily. It startled them, surprise washing over their face and exasperating them before it disappeared in a blink of an eye. 

“W-what?” Their hand pressed against their head, remembering what they were just thinking about. Chuy—another zap. Right. Right. Master Jesus. Again, everything disappeared into nothingness, the void Metzli had worked so hard to get away from. There was no longer any light to shield them, and they were sure that there was no way to bring it back. But before they could go down that trail of thought, Metzli looked toward Arden, almost forgetting she was there at all.

“I…” They swallowed and looked down toward their feet, unsure of what they were allowed to say. “Master Jesus has finished finding me. Changed me…back.” When no shockwave came, Metzli realigned their gaze with Arden and then to the building around them for a moment. If they could have felt it, relief would’ve surely washed over them. “Was punished, but it is fine. Does not hurt.”

Crouching down next to them, it was clear they had been in some sort of fight. They were littered with cuts and bruises, but most noticeably there was a gash under their eye and a large wound just above their clavicle. It was difficult to tell how bad any of it was with the dark blood and only the light from the streets to go off of. The fact that they were always so nonchalant about injuries didn’t exactly help her, either. Was this even all Metzli’s blood? 

It seemed they had at least registered Arden’s presence, which was something, but for a moment they barely acknowledged her. They simply sat, looking dazed, with a hand pressed to their head. Had they hit their head or something? Could a vampire be concussed? “What?” She asked them right back. “Are you okay? Is your head okay?” 

They finally looked over at her, only to look away once again, staring downward in a way that made her nervous. She was about to question them again when they spoke, though their words only served to make her feel even more confused, a pit forming in her stomach. “Master?” she repeated, brows furrowed. “I thought– Isn’t your master dead?” They were punished? “Fine?! What– Metzli, what–” 

No. Arden made herself take a breath. No panicking. 

Looking over her shoulder to make sure there was no one around, she once again became aware of their location. They were by MuertArte. Okay, she thought, good. Get them inside. Help them clean up. Figure out what the fuck happened. “Look, let’s get you inside, yeah?” The last thing they needed was for someone to take notice of their bloody appearance and starting to ask questions. 

There was no answer said for Arden to find any relief, to paint a picture of what just happened for her review. Metzli remained silent, simply shaking their head as they rose to their feet and limped to the keypad by the door. After a series of beeps, the door’s locks clicked and they held the door open for Arden to pass through. What followed was a blur, Metzli having done the dance enough times to get the pair to the loft without any difficulty or missteps. 

By the time they’d settled into the couch and let their mind catch up to their surroundings, there was needle and thread in their hand, though they were unsure how to proceed. They couldn’t quite see the area that needed to be closed, so they placed it down, believing they’d be fine without stitches. Focusing on Arden would be better anyway. She was a friend and those people mattered. Metzli didn’t. They were nothing. “Are you okay, Arden? Um…” Adjusting their position in their seat, they kept their gaze toward the ceiling, unable to meet her eyes. “You look upset and confused. Can I help fix this for you?”

Without a word, Metzli stood and led the way into the gallery. From there, it was almost as if they were on autopilot, mindlessly going through the motions as if she wasn’t even there. And all Arden could do was follow behind, worried, as they went up to the loft and pulled out some medical supplies. She tried to ask a question, but gave up after it was met with only silence. It was only when they stopped moving that they seemed to come back to themself, eyes darting around like they weren't sure how they got to where they were, seated on the couch, needle and thread in hand.

But then they just put it down, turning to her and asking if she was okay, as if nothing was going on. “Metz, I'm fine. But I just found you all beat up, and you said your master punished you? Didn't you kill your master? What's going on?“ She tried to keep her voice level, calm, but it was difficult when she was feeling so worked up. Still standing, she began to pace, needing to shake off some of her nerves. Though, after a moment, her eyes landed on the needle and thread. 

”Do you need help with that?“ Arden asked.  ”I'm not exactly good at it, stitching people up, but I've done it before. Only once, to be fair,“ she felt the need to clarify, to let them know of her inexperience. ”But, like, I can. If you need.“ It wasn't something she wanted to do, but she needed to do something to help her friend out. And she had seen first hand how ridiculous Metzli's tolerance for pain was, so theoretically it wouldn't be as miserable as it was with Kaden.

Terror and pain were supposed to be like a heavy chain that shackled you to whatever made your fight or flight instincts activate. But there was nothing as the walls of Metzli’s internal maze began to shift. Every step remained uncertain and they knew fear still crept around the corner, wishing it could threaten them to stay in place. If Metzli were honest with themself, they wished for that too. Icy, sharp, fear was better than feeling nothing. Being nothing. There was nothing to do but remain still like a dead clock while the ticking continued on without them. A rhythm they once knew and enjoyed most times was utterly gone, and Metzli wasn’t sure they’d be able to get it back. 

“Master Eloy…” They whispered, eyes remaining on the ceiling, unblinking. “He was not my master. My friend—he was-was not my friend actually. He was using me and became a manipulator so that I can-can help him kill Eloy so he can take over.” Metzli’s body acted out, trembling but having no source of sensation to accompany it. They wished they could be angry like they had been, as embarrassing as it was to look so pathetic. 

“If you can help that will be nice.” Would pretending to have pain or anger be just as good? No, probably not. Shaking their head, Metzli continued, teeth gritting together as they removed their shirt. “He…was…my master this entire time. And now he has wishes to make me punished for being his burden.” They leaned back so Arden could work if she decided to, closing their eyes as exhaustion weighed heavy on their lids. “This will show everyone he is new master and not me like everyone wants. He has done a big reveal and now they have more faith in him. Think maybe final part will be my death once I ruin my life like he wants.”

”What?” It was all she could manage, her eyes widening at all the information given to her. The person Metzli had thought to be their master hadn't actually been their master. Their actual master had been their 'friend,' who had been using them as a pawn in some kind of vampiric power play???

For a brief moment, Arden wasn't standing in the loft above Muertarte, no, she found herself right back in that basement, hands behind her back, Zack at her side, terror overtaking her as Wynne was chosen to die. She blinked, and suddenly she was standing next to Wynne in a shack in the woods, Metzli shackled to the wall, pain and fear radiating off of all of them. But then she blinked again and the odd moment of déjà vu passed. It was just her and Metzli– her and her friend– no chains or spawn in sight.

They were shaking, but their face, their eyes, were blank. Fucking hell. If their master was alive, was in town, he could compel Metzli to not feel, he could have them do his bidding. And he wanted to punish them, wanted to ruin their life, wanted them dead. This was bad. This was so spectacularly fucking bad.

Okay. Okay. Forcing herself to breathe, Arden walked over, kneeling next to them on the couch. “I'm gonna...” She motioned vaguely at their neck, not knowing what to say. As she began the process of cleaning the wound, she tried to sift through her racing thoughts. They would have to kill Metzli's master, an elder. But Metzli would be forced to fight back, right? Was there a limit to the control elder's held over others? If Metzli fled— no, they wouldn't …or would they, given the gravity of this situation? Either way, they were going to need some help— Emilio, maybe Zane? She couldn't think of who else would be helpful in a fight against a fucking elder. Maybe Emilio knew some other hunters? Aside from his brother, of course. Fuck, she wished she wasn't so useless with this stuff. She'd have to double down on the elder research–

She shook her head. Focus. She needed to focus. And she needed to say something to Metzli. Laying a slightly shaky hand on their shoulder, Arden's worried gaze settled on her friend. “Look, we'll figure this out, okay? You're not alone in this, there are people who care about you here.” After a beat, she added, “I’m gonna start now.” Settling back into a more comfortable position, she picked up the needle. Just as she was about to begin, she froze as she was yet again hit by that feeling of déjà vu. Panic, Kaden, running, forest. She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep, steady breath before beginning her second ever attempt at stitching someone up.

They’d been around people long enough in Wicked’s Rest to be able to decipher the subtle nuances in people’s tone, so they could hear the uncertainty in Arden’s voice. Without much thinking, Metzli reached for Arden’s hand, laying theirs atop hers. She was warm, inviting, and kind, and when deserving people needed comfort, you provided it. It was almost instinct, the way they reacted. No emotions necessary.

Hope ran through their mind then, the idea that they didn’t need to feel to savor their connections, sparking. Like a lightbulb should, it shone light on the path toward everyone they loved, and they began to believe that they wouldn’t ruin everything as Master Jesus hoped Metzli would. “If you…” They patted Arden’s hand, retreating theirs as they looked around the room. “Squeeze the skin together and pretend it is cloth. This will make it easier. You do not have to keep each stitch close. Width of finger apart. Have sense?” 

Their eyes landed on a picture of themself and Leila, no ounce of fondness lightening their empty body as it should. Slowly, their gaze wandered, jumping around from vase, to shut off television, to the assortment of fidget tools Metzli had received over the course of their time with MuertArte. By the time reality became vivid once more, their wound had been shut and they were being told to hold a rag to their eye. Blinking, Metzli gave a nod and did as they were told. “You are good friend, Arden. I am just sorry I cannot feel gratitude.” They swallowed thickly, exhaustion weighing on their lids enough for Metzli to try and flutter it away. Which was funny because they didn’t even need to sleep.

“Will you stay?” They tilted their head curiously. “Or do you have wish to go?” It was always easier to rest when people Metzli trusted were around, but maybe if Arden couldn’t stay, they could call Leila. Even if they didn’t want her to see them like this. They’d tell her soon. Tomorrow, most likely. For the time being, Metzli needed to plan. To figure out what was coming next. “If you will stay, maybe we can rest on the bed? It always has comfort to hold my people or be held by them.”

During their sparring sessions, Arden had grown used to how physically cold Metzli always was compared to her. She would be sweaty and panting by the time they called it, but Metzli would remain unfazed as ever. Despite that, though, she certainly wouldn't describe them as a cold individual. While they could be very flat and unemotional in their mannerisms at times, there was still an unmistakable playfulness, gentleness, kindness, to them. And, well, she had seen firsthand the depths of their fear, their anger, their despair.  

Somehow, even without the ability to feel emotions, Arden couldn't call them cold. Yes, there was a noticeable emptiness to their eyes and their tone, but there was a warmth to the gesture when they grabbed her hand. And it just made her heart ache for them even more, eyes stinging slightly. Metzli had already been through more than she could even fathom– they didn't deserve this. She caught their eye for a moment, gave them a smile she hoped would be reassuring, even if they couldn't exactly feel it.

But then their hand retreated, and they were advising her on suturing techniques. Right. Okay. ”Got it,“ she nodded. After this, she definitely needed to watch some YouTube videos or something. Maybe she could ask Dr. Kavanagh? Or Zane, even? Regardless, she followed Metzli's instructions, thankful that this wasn't as drastic or awful a situation as it had been with Kaden. Metzli's injury wasn't as serious, and she didn't have the added task of distracting them, since blood loss and intense pain weren't really an issue here. As such, it didn't take nearly as long for her to finish closing up the wound, and these stitches did look considerably better than her first attempt.

After cleaning up, she passed them a clean rag for the gash under their eye, frowning slightly at their words. “I'm sorry, too. About all of this. I'm glad I could help, though.” She wished she could do more, that she wasn't so useless in these situations. Dealing with an elder vampire was so far above her capabilities, though, that she was somehow even more useless than normal. And, god, had she been feeling worthless recently. Her apartment was stuck in sludge, her girlfriend was stuck as a statue, and Arden was stuck living in the cabin, surrounded by Teagan's things without her there, trying not to fall apart. Not to mention, she still hadn't found that goddamn warden, she had nothing on Erebus, and the town was actually falling apart around her. 

But she shoved those thoughts away. Her focus needed to be on Metzli right now. “We’re gonna figure this out,” she said, repeating herself. Tomorrow she would double down on her research into elder vampires, see if Leah had anything that could be relevant. 

Tomorrow, though. Because when Metzli spoke up again, their exhaustion was evident in their voice, and it only served to make her realize how tired she felt. Sleeping had been difficult recently, too. The enchantment on the quilt seemed to be waning and without Teagan or Wynne around, Arden was back to sleeping alone every night for the first time in months. She did have Hobbes and Alffi, but it wasn't the same. 

She nodded, feeling more emotional than she would've liked, “Yeah, I can stay. That... sounds nice.” The cats had food, and Andy had been continuing to keep an eye on the cabin. Besides, Metzli needed the comfort, and it would be nice not to have to sleep alone, even if just for a night.

[stainedglasstruth]

[pm] Am sorry for late message. I do not sleep.

But I wanted to say thank you for you helping me. Master says I will die soon and will not let me leave the crypt so I cannot thank in person.

You have always been kind and it is appreciated.

Wanted you to know this.

Thank you.

[pm] You don't have to apologize. I'm up late pretty often anyway.

You don't have to thank me. You're my friend, Metzli, of course I'm going to help if I can. I'm sorry I haven't been able to be more helpful I'm sorry you've been put in this situation.

[..................] This sounds like a goodbye. [.....] It's not. It won't be. I have to believe that There are so many people doing Leila has been [.......] But I do hope you know I'm glad to have met you. You're such a talented, generous, and considerate person. Even when you can't feel it.

[stainedglasstruth]

[pm] I have left a basket for you. They are pan dulce. Enjoy. For your birthday. Am sorry I did not know sooner.

Happy birthday.

[pm] I thought it might've been. Thank you, you didn't need to go to the trouble, but I appreciate it. [...] You don't have to apologize. I'm not big on birthdays usually.

[stainedglasstruth]

[Metzli hand delivers the basket and knocks before leaving. Forgets note.]

[Arden is confused but Elated to find a huge fucking basket of pastries and shit. She has a suspect in mind, but checks her phone because she's not totally sure and can't condone eating random pastries]

[stainedglasstruth]

[pm] Thank you for your help and thank you again for staying with me. You are a very good friend.

[pm] Of course, Metzli. I'm sorry you're stuck in this situation. I'm trying to see what else I can find on elders, but I don't know if there's anything else I could do to help, I want to.

[stainedglasstruth]

[pm] I give apology if this is bothering but I want to ask if you know things about elder vampires?

[pm] You're not bothering me, Metzli, it's fine. I know a little? But I can look into it if you need. [...] Is this about your clan?

[stainedglasstruth]

[pm] You tell man about glitter bomb. Is this a type of prank? Where can I get this?

Do you send to people you hate?

[PM] Yeah, it is a prank. [del: an evil one] One that is most often for people you hate enough that you want them to be cursed with glitter for a while. There are websites where you can buy them. [user links two sites she finds after a quick google]

I assume there's someone you have in mind to send one to?

[stainedglasstruth]

[pm] Thank you for your help Arden.

And for getting me home.

If there is something I can do to pay you back please let me know. I will do anything you need.

[pm] You don't have to thank me or pay me back or anything, Metzli. I'm just glad you're feeling a bit better and back at home.

[stainedglasstruth]

@muertarte replied to your post “[pm] Do you know that woman? The short one? With...”:

[pm] Maybe. I ran into her. And my wallet is missing since that day. She is strange. And short.

​[pm] Well, she wouldn't actually steal anyone's wallet. I was joking about the life of crime thing. She's a great person, even if she can be a little strange at times.

[stainedglasstruth]

[pm] Do you know that woman? The short one? With the wallet?

You called her bestie and I know what this means.

[pm] [user can't help but laugh at 'the short one'] Yeah, she's like my oldest and best friend. [...] Is it your wallet?